


Advice

by KorrohShipper



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes' Advice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Steggy - Freeform, Steggy Week 2019, steggyweek2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: "Peggy, I love—""I don't love you."orBucky's dating advice.





	Advice

**Author's Note:**

> **Day 7 (Sunday): Free Choice**

Peggy stood near a window by the edge of the bar, and when Steve heard Bucky snickering at him, he knew he had to go to her.

“You know,” she was startled, at first, but she hid it well, the tight knot that had formed at her shoulders loosened up as he continued to talk. “Bucky gave me some advice.”

She didn’t twist to face him, instead she continued to stare out the window. “Pray tell, soldier, what has Barnes spurned you on now?”

A smile tugged on the corners of his lips and he laughed, his chest reverberated as he bent his head low, crossing his arms. “Dating advice,” he said simply.

That caught Peggy’s attention, who turned to him, not with a look of surprise, but with a backwards, almost skeptical glance as her nose was wrinkled in disgust, as if she was particularly offended by the idea.

His brows furrowed together. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked, indignantly.

She waved it off with a hand. “Oh, no, it’s not like that.” Quizzically, he raised his brow until it reached the base of his hairline. “Dating advice from brothers—downright horrifying if not terribly ineffective.”

Steve stared at Peggy, not saying a word, but the way her eyes had softened at the mention of brothers, the way she longingly looked out the window, he knew something deeper was there. But he also knew better than to dig. Instead, he cleared his throat with a soft cough, “Bucky’s gotten more than a few dates, he’s even brought home a number of dames.”

Peggy shook her head and turned to face him, a growing smile on her face. “Alright then, color me intrigued. What’s his great words of wisdom to those in need of companionship.”

He smirked and mocked seriousness. “I don’t love you.”

She took a step back, sputtering like a broken machine. A shade of crimson stained her cheeks, betraying her as she tried to school her features. She wasn’t affected. She isn’t. She's just taken by shock, is all. “I beg your pardon?”

Steve laughed, so innocent and bashful that it almost made her stomach hurt. “Bucky said that’s it’s more intriguing to push someone away, makes it all the more better.” He explained with a smile.

Slowly, she found herself nodding. It made sense, the idea has its merits. Her heart had started to calm down, and her breathing steadied down to a nice rhythm. “Playing hard to get, you mean?”

Beside her, Steve nodded absentmindedly. “Worked every time, I promise you. And it works both ways, you know? If he wanted to scare a girl away, he’d say I love you, you know? Chase them off—“

She couldn’t help herself with a smile as she cut him off. “I love you,” she tried, with the straightest face she could muster.

He blinked, at first, the words rendering him to a halting pause until she cracked a smile, and he began breathing again, loudly for the first few minutes.

Together, they laughed, the moment seemingly theirs. And instead of shaking it off, or continuing the story, he smiled at her, seemingly unfazed. “Can’t have that,” he muttered under his breath and tsked at her. “I like having you around, Agent Carter.”

It was her turn to pause.

He smirked at her, the tiniest bit of smug tainted his face. “So, I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t love you.”

* * *

“Peggy, I’m sorry!”

She turned to face him, a glare fixed at him. “I’m clearly working, Captain!”

“Peggy—“

She sneered coldly at him. “That’s Agent Carter to you, soldier.” She cut him off in a cool and dangerously calm voice.

“I’m sorry about implying you and Stark,” he gestured with his hands, wildly and reserved at the same time. “It was wrong and—God, please, Peg, would you hear me out?”

Her lungs burned. She wanted to yell at him, tell him to get lost or scream at him for making her feel that way. She wanted to tell him off, to let her anger draw him down, to let him know how much it hurt her that he’d become like the other soldiers.

But nothing and everything at once came, until a memory from last night came to mind.

“I love you.” She said in a dangerously calm tone, her eyes not willing to break its glare.

Steve’s face fell, and her heart crumbled to bits with it when her feet turned and walked away from him.

* * *

Peggy woke up to a warm set of arms perched on the edge of her cot. “Steve?”

And he stirred himself awake. “Yeah?” he asked groggily, face caked with sleep.

“What on Earth are you doing here?” she twisted the sheets away but her shoulder exploded in pain.

Immediately, he rose to his feet. “Easy there, Peg. You just had two slugs pulled out of your shoulder.”

Her face contorted into a mixture of shock and pain. “I was shot?”

Steve nodded absentmindedly, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, you were out for quite some time.”

That’s when she noticed the growing stubble on his jaws. That was not there the last time she saw him. “And how long was I out?”

“Some eighteen hours.”

“And how long have you been camped out here by my side?”

He opened his mouth, but whatever reply had died out when his stomach grumbled. She chuckled at the sound and smiled at him knowingly, her hand resting atop his.

“Go.”

“But Peg—“

"Peggy's orders."

His eyes twitched defiantly. "Well, _Peggy_ just got shot—"

She rolled her eyes. "Eighteen hours ago, soldier." She interjected, almost impishly.

Whatever hint of exasperation that was in his eyes had faded now. "I'm not leaving you alone, Peg. Not now, not ever." He whispered, voice soft and small. It was more in part of his fear rather than hers, and her equally firm stand began to crumble at the sight of his worry. 

"Steve, what is this about?" she began, gentle enough not to pry as he shielded his eyes away from her gaze. 

"The mission. I left you, in that office, and you were shot."

Peggy tried her best to remember the details of their mission. They had received a tip from British intelligence that spy had been feeding information to the Germans, crucial details and instructions on how to complete an atomic bomb. It was a last-minute mission and Monty had been injured from a previous stint and left Steve to the job. 

It was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission. Sneak inside the castle, schmooze with guests to get further intel, and grab the head engineer of the bomb project, Wernher Von Braun and deliver him to the authorities. 

But they were made. 

Steve and Peggy found themselves locked up in an office with an incapacitated Von Braun hunched over a desk riddled with mounds upon mounds of paper. The soldiers stationed at the castle were hounding in on them when it was clear that the only way to complete the mission was to have someone stay behind—and between the two of them, Peggy couldn't lug the engineer over her shoulder and run miles to camp.

It had to be Steve. 

"I left you, Peg. And you almost died." The gravelly voice that jarred her back to reality weighed heavily upon her. "You told me to take him to camp, and I did. When we came back for you, Peg, God—there was so much blood. You were out cold, and Gabe wouldn't tell me if you were going to be fine, that you were going to be alright." When he looked up, tears had already streaked his face. "We thought you wouldn't survive. I thought I lost you, Peg."

"But you didn't," she stressed softly.

Pain and hurt crossed his face. "But that doesn't change the fact that I almost did. You were gone, Peggy. We couldn't find a pulse when we got to you." 

"The mission comes first." She tried to protest, to let the logical, militaristic side shine through, but even that felt weak and forced. "But I am sorry that you had to see that."

A small sob escaped him. "Never do that again."

There was a soft tug to her stomach, and while she felt butterflies and her heart began to beat a tad bit faster, she smiled teasingly. "Can't make any promises, soldier. Not unless you'd give up jumping out of aircrafts without a parachute into hostile enemy zone."

A small smile broke through, and everything began to feel right. 

Weakly, she pointed towards the door. "Now, go."

He shook his head. "I'm stay—"

"I love you. Now, go. Eat, and for the love of God, Steven, take a shower—you smell worse than Dugan!"

At that, he laughed. His spirits higher and got off the hospital chair. “Alright. I don’t love you.”

* * *

“You won’t be alone.”

Steve didn’t move a muscle to acknowledge her. He just sat on the chair, an empty shot glass in his hand with a polished bottle of alcohol on the table.

Her hand crept up on the table and she gently inched it closer to his to the point where she could feel the heat he radiated just underneath the pad of her hand.

She leaned in closer, the edge of the table pressed against her coat. “I’m serious, Steve. You shouldn’t be alone and you won’t be alone. Not on my watch.”

He scoffed and laughed out a bitter guffaw. His eyebrows were furrowed together and his eyes had been slanted into a glare, directed at the alcohol as if it had done him a great offense by being empty despite having no real affect on him.

“I want to be. _Alone_.” He answered, finally, his voice still hoarse and cracked. He stood up abruptly, the chair’s legs scraped the floor and produced a loud sound that made her wince involuntarily.

She mirrored his actions just before he turned his back to leave the pub. “Steve?”

He refused to face her and instead gazed at how his shoulders tensed at her voice. “Not now.”

Her jaws squared and her brows knotted together, feeling more determined and exasperated at his attempts to brush her off. “Most definitely not, Steve—“

“Leave me alone, Peggy.”

She huffed indignantly. “Captain Rogers!” she snapped back.

“I love you.” He said quietly, and whatever argument she had in mind had died in her lips with a gasp and her chest deflated.

He was angry, she tried to convince herself. He was hurting and she should be there for him. The tears in his eyes, the broken shoulders, he shouldn’t go through the death of a loved one alone.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, soldier. I don’t love you.”

* * *

“Peggy, this is my choice.”

She hated how he used her words against him. She hated how she thought, naively, that the kiss she gave him before he boarded the plane would be their first and last.

She hated, most of all, how Steve was so utterly selfless, and she couldn’t fault him for that.

The static cackled into life, and she pressed on the radio button. His voice filtered through, fear and wind broke through. “Peggy, I love—“

The words registered in her mind and the image of a smirking Barnes, yelling, “Finally!” has conjured in her thoughts, even if his advice meant a different meaning to the phrase altogether.

Steve’s tone, was different. It didn’t hold the same ring she spat at his direction when he tried to apologize for Private Lorraine and his accusations of her and Stark. It also was void of the playfulness of their banter, the exchanges they'd share with the line. It was different.

No, he meant it. He was actually confessing his love to her—not that she doubted it in any way. There was a sincerity, a ringing genuine love that invaded her and all she could think was how it was all wrong.

Tears blurred her vision as the sound of air rushing into the cockpit filled the radio. She didn’t want to hear it from Steve when he’s about to die, she wanted it after a dance or two, when they’re both breathless from a slow song. She didn’t want to hear it from him with that grave voice, a voice that belonged to a man who wanted to say the feelings that were kept buried in him before he died.

She wanted to say it back for the rest of their life together, and she would be damned if it was only for the rest of his.

She inhaled sharply and fought back a wave of tears. Her voice began to crack but she didn’t allow a cry of anguish to show—she had promised him once, in the bombed out bar, that he wouldn’t be alone.

And selfish enough she is to keep him to herself in his last moments, she will not let him comfort her as he flies to his death.

He breathed in deep, her mind willing itself to brace for a much more stronger impact, one that would hit Steve and reverberate through the radios.

“I don’t love you. I don’t love you. Steve, I don’t love you.” Her voice was rushed, but it was understood, from his brief silence and huff in agreement. _Don’t say it now_ , it went unsaid but painfully understood with a hounding realization that it would never happen, _come back first and be safe in arms, then say it. Then tell me you love me._

He said nothing in return, and for a moment, she was scared that he never heard until the static broke through again and a voice whirred back.

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

* * *

Peggy stood near the railings of the Brooklyn Bridge. 

Cars whizzed behind her and she couldn't help but allow them to disappear into the back of her mind as she produced a small vial from the pocket of her coat. Her breath got caught in her throat mid-gasp and her heart ached. 

This was it.

It would make it real.

A selfish part of her wanted to keep the vial to herself, allow her one tiny piece of her heart that went down in a plane when Steve crashed the Valkyrie in the ocean to save thousands of lives. There was a sharp whisper that begged her to keep him alive, that she could still keep him with her at all time. 

But it wouldn't be right. 

Slowly, she uncapped the vial, and the first thing she noticed was the metallic scent that wafted to her nose. It was an unbearable smell, something she thought she had left behind at the battlefield, but there it was. All within her palm. 

Her fingers shook, her hand not entirely cooperating with her mind that kept bugging her to let him go, to let him rest, to at least let him be a part of the city he died to protect. Her heart ached, but she knew it was time to let Steve go home. 

The vial's tip began to lean sideways and the blood began to trickle out. 

Peggy felt her lips quiver, tears she thought she had already cried began to resurface once more as the afternoon sun began its descent towards the horizon. "I love you." She whispered to the wind, meaning it both ways.

She had not let him say it, but now she can, because it was time to let him go. 

"Goodbye, my darling."

* * *

"She's gone. In her sleep."

A part of Steve told him that he should be thankful, grateful, even. 

Peggy was old, lucid. She had a hard time breathing, her bones ached, her organs began to shut down, and her mind was slipping away. It was a mercy, he tried to tell himself that when he excused himself from the table. 

She had fought for so long, she held her fists up high and stood with the little guy for a lifetime. She did all that, even if no one cared to stand in her corner. 

It was after so long. She had lost so many. 

Steve tried to convince himself that maybe it was for the best. She was tired, and in the world that's cruel enough to separate him from a life he could have had with her back in the 40's, it should at least give Peggy the rest she deserves. 

But it didn't numb the pain any less. 

It was still there, pounding at his chest, clawing at him, a silent rage of anger and fury and emptiness. 

Seventy years in the ice didn't do any difference. She was still his best girl through and through. It was still her advice he sought after, judgement that he would trust without a second glance. It was still Peggy who he held a torch for.

No amount of years in the ice or age would ever take that away from him. 

And the text, it only made it worse. 

"I don't love you." He whispered himself, half-expecting a jovial and teasing voice to pipe up beside him, chuckling at his side and rolling those chestnut brown eyes at him.

It was futile, he knew, but he still wanted to hear her say something back. But there was nothing. Only an empty stairwell and sob that he fought to contain in his chest. 

"I don't love you. Come back. Please."

* * *

They were dancing in the middle of her living room when he glanced down at her, the sight of her enough to bring a warm tug to his heart. 

"I don't love you."

Peggy didn't skip a beat and looked up, only to see Steve gazing at her, love shining brightly in his eyes. 

"I don't love you, too, my darling."


End file.
